


Breaker Breaker

by lovegonestale



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bloodplay, Captivity, Comment Fic, Community: spnkink_meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-18
Updated: 2010-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-07 08:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovegonestale/pseuds/lovegonestale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "Sam drugs Castiel, then keeps him captive as a blood source (angel blood is better than demon blood.) Dean finds Castiel and doesn't know how to react."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaker Breaker

It is only much later when Castiel realizes that the invitation is an ambush.

Why _would_ he suspect anything amiss when the text message comes from Dean’s cellphone, and the person that greets him in the abandoned warehouse is Sam? Familiar Sam, beloved brother of his charge.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel says.

He hasn’t been around humans long enough to pick up the tell-tale signs, so he suspects nothing when Sam comes towards him and places a large palm on his shoulder, and then drives a knife through his chest.

Dean’s stabbed Castiel before at almost the exact same spot, but this is not the same knife. That alone should make the blow harmless, but the moment it sinks into the flesh of his vessel Castiel knows that it has been coated with demon blood, thick and fresh. The poison races straight into his essence, dragging angry claws of pain that have him gasping for the breath he’d never needed before.

“What—” Castiel starts to say. He doesn’t understand. He can only gaze up at Sam, confused and unsure of this betrayal, because this is Sam! It is only Sam, himself and unpossessed.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Sam says, the words tripping all over themselves in haste. The anguish in his face matches that which Castiel feels now. Castiel starts to reach for him, but Sam makes a sound – a sob, maybe – and then twists the knife in deeper.

It’s shocking, pain lacing through the physical shell and his true self. Castiel lets out a scream that causes the two light-bulbs hanging above them to flicker, breaking one. He falls like a ragdoll on to the ground, and Sam is immediately on him, gripping the knife’s handle with his hunter’s hands and pulling it out.

Castiel thinks for a moment that it is over, but then Sam is slicing through his shirt, quickly and efficiently like a man who has done this a thousand times over. The next descent of the blade cuts straight into skin.

Sigils, Castiel realizes. Sam is binding him with Enochian magic, the kind of which he should not know.

“Sam…” Castiel cannot pull free from this place. The demon blood has already tainted him and he no longer has the power to immediately purge it. He could if he fled the vessel, but that would burn Sam’s eyes irreversible, and in Castiel’s mind he can only see Dean’s face contorted in rage and disappointment, and there’s only so much of that he can take.

He lingers too long on that thought and it is his undoing; Sam finishes the sigil and has bound him.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam says again, just before he brings the knife down into the vessel’s heart.

  


 

* * *

When Castiel wakes up, he is on a bed.

It is a disorienting experience for him, for he has never been unconscious before and does not know how to process the first minute or so of confusion and ill-recognition of his surroundings.

All he knows is that he is on a bed, and his hands and legs are shackled by chains to the posts, leaving him splayed on the stiff mattress. The chains are iron, but they only keep the body in place – the true entrapment is accomplished by the sigils burning into his chest and back. Sam must’ve cut another set while he was unconscious, and they have dulled Castiel’s senses – he can only see through the vessel’s eyes, but no further.

He doesn’t know where he is, what day it is, what time it is – for an angel, this is close to being completely blind.

“Sam?” Castiel calls out.

There is no answer. The room is completely quiet, his captor gone.

Castiel contemplates the chains, the sigils that will not heal, the tears in his clothes, and the smell of semen that drifts up from where they stain his pants.

  


 

* * *

  
Sam returns maybe a day or two later, and there is a look in his eyes Castiel doesn’t understand.

“Why are you doing this, Sam?” Castiel asks. “This isn’t you.”

Sam doesn’t answer. He is agitated, but the hands that take out the familiar knife aren’t shaking. They are steady and sure when they slice across Castiel’s stomach, lines of red dripping over the curves of his body to the mattress beneath; they are firmer still when the blade once again presses into his ribcage above his heart.

Castiel isn’t surprised when Sam climbs on the bed and lowers his mouth to the cut. He had hoped that this wasn’t Sam's goal, but of all the theories he’d thought about during the hours since their last encounter, this was one of the few that seemed most likely. The others involved coercion in some form, which Castiel would’ve preferred greatly.

“You’ve tasted my blood before,” Castiel says. He can feel Sam’s tongue pressing against the cut greedily, but the only true discomfort comes from the knife edge shoved just so into his heart. Thick stains of demon blood sluice into his vessel, making it difficult for him to think and focus. The heart still beats around the shallow invasion of the blade – it is not deep as last time, so he will still be awake through this but Castiel doesn’t know if being conscious is preferable.

Sam eventually raises his head, red wetness all over his mouth and chin as he moans. “God… fuck.”

“Was it—” Castiel has to force himself to focus through the cloudy haze in his mind to bring the right questions together, before Sam leaves again. “Was it the wall sigils I painted for you? Was that how you sampled me?”

Sam whines – that’s probably a yes. His hands are on Castiel’s body, and he’s rutting against Castiel’s thigh.

“I only wanted to drink,” Sam confesses, teeth stained red as he talks. “Just a little. It helped, you see – I banished Zachariah with a thought, just like that, no fuss, and that was just from a few drops. I can do more stuff now, you should see—”

“This isn’t right, Sam,” Castiel says. “Angel blood is not meant for—”

“I really, really, only wanted a drink,” Sam says, apparently not listening to him. He’s pulling at Castiel’s pants, fingers feverish and clumsy. “I didn’t know it would be like – well, I had an idea, but I didn’t expect it to be so—”

Castiel quickly realizes why Sam is pulling his pants off, shoving it down to the ankles still bound to the bed. “No, Sam, don’t do this. This isn’t you. Sam!”

“You don’t even feel,” Sam mutters, pushing Castiel’s legs apart, ignoring the awkward angle and the way the chains dig bloody into his ankles. “You don’t feel pain or hurt like we do. This isn’t even your body.”

Castiel twists against the chains, futile as it may be. “That doesn’t make it right!”

Sam glares at him, now truly lost in the unholy high of Castiel’s blood. “Just imagine that I’m Dean.”

Castiel freezes, and it is in that second, when his thoughts turn to his true charge, that Sam pushes in.

It is a blunt, large intrusion that rattles all the way up Castiel’s body – even the knife in his chest shudders at the powerful rock inward. There is sensation all along his nerves at the invasion – perhaps there is even pain as the organ plunges mercilessly inside, but it pales against the heady effect of the demon blood already inside Castiel’s body. All he can feel is the vague sensation of the flesh giving way to Sam’s penis, which is huge and insistent as it stabs him again and again in a furious rhythm that’s more about desperation than pleasure.

In the few treacherous thoughts that Castiel has allowed himself, he’d wondered if he could have something like this with Dean – no, not like _this_, never like this – but the closeness of flesh to match the spirit that Castiel craves with the intensity of one who has never wanted anything for himself before.

The chances of it happening were slim before, but they’re non-existent now. Not after Sam has been inside him like this, ripping away some secret part of Castiel that he’d never thought about before.

When Sam pushes Castiel’s thighs apart further in an attempt to get even deeper, Castiel can only look at him and think frantically that Dean _cannot know about this_.

Castiel wants to believe that knowing of this will torment Dean, but he cannot be sure. Dean is brutally unpredictable, a human earthquake through Heaven and Hell, and he loves Sam above all else. Castiel simply cannot predict how Dean will react to this – Castiel isn’t a demon like Ruby, this body is empty but not truly _him_, and Castiel is merely an ally, maybe an unexpected friend at most.

He is reasonably sure, however, that Dean will focus on what this means for Sam.

Castiel waits until Sam has reached orgasm, head thrown back and veins of dry blood along his throat, spilling his heat and angry satisfaction into Castiel’s body.

“Sam,” Castiel says, “I forgive you.”

Sam looks at him, confused like he doesn’t understand the words. Castiel opens his mouth to repeat himself, but Sam is quick, fist around the knife to push it all the way to Castiel’s spine, and he is unconscious again.

  


 

* * *

  
The next time Castiel wakes, the surroundings are the same, but the clothes are more ruined and the skin – now healed, except for where the sigils still burn – patterned with dried drops of blood that Sam hadn’t licked off.

Sam didn’t bother to clean or fix him up, so his pants are still around his ankles, and he can feel the rather uncomfortable sensation of come on the mattress beneath him from where it leaked out of his ass.

Castiel stays like that, a helpless piece of meat on a bed in the middle of nowhere.

He thinks, and he prays.

  


 

* * *

  
Sam, when he returns, is more agitated than before, eyes wild. “I need to… I’m going to let you go.”

Castiel nods. “Thank you.”

“But before that I have to… We’re going to face Lucifer tomorrow,” Sam says, and there’s the knife again. “One last shot, and then never again. I swear.”

“It won’t work, Sam,” Castiel says.

“It stands to reason,” Sam says as he climbs on to the bed and cuts the same line on Castiel’s stomach, “That blood of low level demons got me strong enough to kill Lilith, so your blood should be able to let me kill Lucifer.”

“Have you forgotten what happened when you killed Lilith that way?”

“This is different!” Sam shouts. It is obvious now that something has poisoned Sam’s thoughts and made him act this way, even before the first touch of angel blood to his lips. “Lucifer has to die! That’s how we save the world!”

“Not this way, Sam,” Castiel growls. “No good can come from using this magic against Lucifer. He will twist it against you, mark my words.”

“It’ll work,” Sam hisses, lowering himself to drink his fill.

With Sam’s mouth preoccupied, Castiel talks quickly. “Someone’s manipulating you, Sam. How have you been getting this information? How did you know how to trap me, keep me here? Was it Crowley? Have you been seeing it in your dreams? It could be the other angels, playing you as they always have, trying to drive you and Dean apart so to force your hands and make you say yes.”

“No!” Sam wrenches his head up, bloodied spit flying. “This is my choice.”

“Is it really, Sam?” Castiel asks.

There is a moment where sanity almost returns, but the other wins out. Sam frowns, rubbing blood from his chin with a fist. “Your blood tastes different.”

“I’m no longer a virgin.”

Sam blinks at him, like he’s seeing Castiel for the first time. “This the last, I swear.”

There should be no reason for the copulation if all he’s after is the blood, but Sam fits himself into the space between Castiel’s legs anyway, shoving his hard penis inside with powerful familiarity. A few thrusts and he’s pressing farther inside than Castiel would’ve thought this body capable of accepting.

Castiel lies back and takes it. Every angry shove, every dirty drag – he takes it. When Sam rises on to his knees, Castiel doesn’t protest, letting Sam cant his hips upwards, opening him up even further to the plunge of his cock.

Sam comes with a shout, and Castiel is lucid enough this time to feel the spill of hot seed inside, the wet drag of Sam pulling out, then the sore clench of his hole, now loose and well-fucked.

“I forgive you, Sam,” Castiel says again.

Sam leans over him, head turned away and breathing heavily. “You can’t tell Dean.”

“I swear it, Sam,” Castiel says. When Sam looks at him skeptically, Castiel adds, “You cannot afford to be apart. You are stronger together, and that is how you will succeed. I won’t jeopardize that.”

Sam swallows, and then slowly gets to his feet and fixes his clothes. “I’ll… I’ll let you out when we’re done with Lucifer.”

“Sam…”

“_After_ Lucifer,” Sam snaps. “You can wait for tomorrow, can’t you?”

  


 

* * *

 

  
Castiel waits for longer than a day.

Footsteps, when they finally arrive, make him start. “Sam?”

There’s a sharp inhalation of breath, and then another even more familiar figure steps into Castiel’s line of vision.

“Dean,” Castiel says, low horror in his voice. “What—”

There is a look on Dean’s face that shocks Castiel to silence. Of all the reactions Castiel had let himself think about, none had come to close to this pure, cold, rage. Dean stands there, breathing through flared nostrils as he takes in the sight of Castiel on the bed.

Castiel, chained and held down, dried semen and blood all over his lower stomach and thighs. Dean spends a long minute just looking at him, like he knows what he’s seeing but he can’t let himself believe it.

“Dean…” Castiel says softly. “Where’s Sam?”

“Shut up!” Dean shouts, so loud that it echoes back at them. “Don’t you fucking say anything!”

“But—”

“I said shut the fuck up!” Dean’s shaking, face pale. He moves to remove the chains, fingers tripping all over themselves, and when he comes close enough Castiel can see that he’s been crying. The tears have been wiped away, of course, but the stickiness of his cheeks and bloodshot of his eyes remain.

Castiel is quiet as he is released from the iron chains. The sigils will need cleaning with holy water for them to heal over, but this is not the time to be saying so out loud. Castiel lets Dean help him sit up, away from the wet spots on the bed, just as Castiel lets Dean fix his pants and jacket as much as they can be fixed.

“Cas…” Dean head dips, hiding his face from view.

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He tentatively touches Dean’s hand, and is shocked when that hand wraps around his tightly, protective in a way he has never been before.

When Dean finally lifts his face up, his eyes are bright and angry. “What the fuck do we do now?”

Castiel shakes his head helplessly. “I don’t know.”


End file.
